Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 02]

by Surrender to a Wicked Spy

  Someone cleared her throat. Olivia opened her eyes to see Petty standing there with an I-know-what-you’re thinking-about glint in her eye. The maid held out her hands.

  Olivia looked down to see that she was crushing the green gown to her bosom, creasing the already-abused silk. She shrugged sheepishly and handed it to Petty. “His lordship thought it was a bit tight in the bosom,” she told the maid.

  Petty sniffed. “I thought it looked right fine, but what do I know about ladies’ gowns and such? Nothing at all, that’s what.”

  Olivia ignored Petty’s irony and forced herself to focus on her tasks. Abruptly she realized there was a very serious problem with her wardrobe.

  “Petty! What am I to wear to the Hunt Ball? Mother ordered a ball gown for my trousseau, but it hasn’t come yet—”

  Petty pulled a heavy card dress box from beneath the bed. “It came yesterday evening, my lady, but I didn’t have the chance to tell you.” She bent her sour gaze on Olivia. “What with you two lockin’ the door and all.”

  “Petty, you are insubordinate!” Olivia hugged the astonished maid. “But I forgive you! Let’s try it on, shall we?”

  When Petty bent to undo the string ties on the box, Olivia’s enthusiasm began to fade. Mother had chosen this gown as well. If Olivia recalled correctly, it was a flounced blue satin with a bell skirt, which Mother was convinced was on its way back in. The style made buxom Olivia look like a flour sack tied in the middle.

  “Oh dear.” She had to wear it. She had nothing else. At the very least, it would be grand. If awful.

  “Oh, my lady!” Petty’s breathy, unqualified approval made Olivia open her eyes. “You’ll look a sight in this!”

  From the maid’s hands hung a sleek column of sky blue silk, falling from a low-cut Empire bodice that went to perfect tiny cap sleeves at the shoulders.

  Olivia gasped, her hand at her mouth. It was perfection. It was divine. It was nothing her mother ever would have ordered for her.

  “I am going to find that modiste and kiss her silly,” Olivia vowed.

  Petty, who knew the difference between Lady Cheltenham’s taste and good taste, nodded emphatically. “That one knew what side her bread was buttered on. Better to make a wealthy viscountess look fine than please a poor countess.”

  Moments later, Olivia turned toward the mirror. Oh my. “Petty, I don’t look fine.”

  Petty shook her head. “No, my lady, you don’t.”

  Olivia grinned down at Petty. “I’m going to boggle his mind!”

  Petty grinned back. “Himself isn’t going to know what hit him.”

  Then Petty’s smile retreated and she looked away, busying herself with checking the gown’s hem. Olivia sighed, but what could she say to the girl? Dane was never going to be hers, it was a ridiculous fantasy, but hearing that from Olivia would only cut deeper.

  To say anything else would be a lie. So Olivia said nothing. Still, she mourned that brief camaraderie as Petty silently removed the gown and packed it away for the journey.

  Olivia took pity on her discomfort. “Petty, why don’t you go check on Mrs. Huff? Remind her to bring a packet of the treatment on the journey. I’ll make sure the kitchen at the inn makes it up for her.”

  Petty nodded and escaped without ever looking up.

  The quiet was lovely after the bustle of the day. Olivia dropped into the chair by the fire, letting out a great yawn. She’d hardly slept last night, she realized with a smile.

  A catnap in the chair was just the thing. Petty would return shortly, so she ought to take advantage of these few moments alone.

  She turned, cuddling into the corner of the great chair. The first night here, Dane had held her in his lap on this chair after that silly dizzy spell. It was too bad one didn’t take great overstuffed chairs along on journeys to Scotland … .

  The door burst open and Petty flew into the room, her eyes wide.

  “My lady, there’s a gent come to see you and he’s a right stunner!”

  Olivia snuggled deeper into the cushions. “Tell him I’m already married.”

  Petty shook her shoulder with deferent urgency. “My lady, I think he’s an upper servant looking for work. Oh, my lady, please hire him, do!”

  Olivia cracked her eyes open. “A servant, seeking work from me?” Surprising, since she’d not advertised for one. Furthermore, what was Petty’s urgency?

  Curiosity alone was enough to shake Olivia from her nap. Besides, meeting this paragon of male beauty definitely sounded like more fun than packing.

  Moments later, when she received the fellow in the third parlor—because apparently Mrs. Huff didn’t think he rated the first or second parlor—Olivia had to admit that he was a fine-looking fellow indeed. Fair-haired and blue-eyed and with very nice manners as well.

  Of course, he was a bit young and too slender for her taste and he was no taller than her and he tended toward a mournful expression—

  Yet Petty couldn’t take her eyes from the young man. Olivia watched the way the maid sent furtive adoring glances at him.

  “So tell me, Mr. Sumner, what leads you to believe I’m in need of a manservant?”

  He shrugged, blinking dolefully at her. “I’d only hoped, my lady. I’d heard you were marrying and I thought you might be taking on a few new people since his lordship’s household was growing.” He sighed. “I know it’s presumptuous, me coming here like this, but Lord Walter was always willing to listen when someone needed work and I thought—”

  Olivia held up a hand. “Lord Walter? You were employed by my brother?”

  He nodded vigorously, turning his hat around in nervous hands. “Yes, my lady. I was valet to his lordship for two years, until his death a month back.” He blinked rapidly, as though near tears. “I miss working for his lordship, I do.”

  The valet who had witnessed Walt’s death. The sole witness, in fact. Olivia stood abruptly. “Wait here.”

  She left the room, not caring that Petty stayed behind. Let Petty have a new fancy. In a few steps, Olivia was outside Dane’s study. She hesitated, for he’d made it clear he didn’t like being disturbed.

  Then again, she had no idea if she was allowed to hire servants on her own. Mostly the housekeeper hired staff, and Olivia would much rather ask Dane than face down the imperious Mrs. Huff.

  She tapped at the door.

  “Come.”

  She entered to see Dane alone, working on something he casually slid beneath the blotter as she approached. Honestly, did these men think she was a prying sort?

  Of course, their caution made her itch with curiosity, but she was a lady. She could control herself.

  Besides, she was here on a mission. She wanted to know what really happened to Walter and why he was hanging about with such sordid sorts and why he would drown when he was a keen swimmer.

  “Dane, may I hire a manservant?”

  He sat back and smiled at her. “Good afternoon to you, too, my lady.”

  She blushed. “My apologies. How are you today, my lord?”

  He tilted his head, cocking a saucy brow at her. “I’m a little tired actually. Something kept me from my rest last night.”

  She reddened further. “Dane,” she hissed in embarrassment. “Don’t talk about it! It’s daytime!”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Very well. Strictly business, then. Why do you need a manservant? I’ve a household full.”

  Olivia nodded. “True, but they all work for you and Greenleigh. Especially with all this traveling, I think it might come in handy to have a manservant of my own. He needs the work, and he can help Petty take care of my things, and with lifting and carrying and such.”

  “And you feel sorry for him.”

  “Well, yes. He was with my brother for two years and now he’s without employment. I never met him because he stayed in London when Walter visited, but I’ve only heard good things about him.”

  Dane took a breath. “You know, sympathy is not really the corre
ct way to hire servants.”

  “I know. But it was my parents’ responsibility to give him references when my brother died, and they did nothing.”

  She was rather naive if she thought a good servant would go unemployed for months just because of that, but it would do no harm for her to hire the fellow. Dane made a note to have the fellow’s background investigated immediately. The Chimera had made him more suspicious of England’s servant class.

  “You may take him on a trial basis. If he isn’t a great help on the journey, I shall leave him on the side of the road.”

  She dimpled. “You would not.”

  To his surprise, she circled the desk in a run. “You are a dear, Dane.” She bent to press a quick peck on his cheek. Dane found himself enveloped in a perfumed cloud of faint rose scent and girl. He also managed a very rewarding glance down her bodice. Damn, she had a superior figure!

  She scampered from the study, leaving Dane fighting back a brand-new wave of lust. Just when he’d finally managed to get his mind off last night and onto the business of convincing the Prince Regent to participate in his little plot!

  16

  “But I loathe Scotland,” the Prince Regent announced peevishly to Dane and the Falcon in his private chambers that afternoon. “The cold makes my arse hurt. I shall spend the autumn in Brighton.”

  “Of course. After you attend Greenleigh’s Hunt Ball in Scotland.”

  “Why on earth would he want me there?”

  The Falcon crossed his arms. “We want you there.”

  The Prince glared back and forth between the Falcon and the Lion. Dane kept his own gaze steady. George was his monarch, it was true … but he was George’s sworn protector. As such, it was his job to protect His Highness, even from himself.

  George wasn’t going to go willingly. “I’ll need a wing to myself.”

  Dane nodded. “Of course.”

  “I’m bringing my entire household.”

  Dane nodded again, suppressing a sigh. Greenleigh could absorb the cost. “Of course.”

  “And my dogs. And their servants.”

  Dogs. At least Olivia would be happy. Dane nodded again. “My carpets are yours.”

  George glared at them both. “But why?”

  Dane smiled. “I wish to impress my bride.”

  George openly sneered. “Oh, please. All you have to do is walk into the room to impress your bride.” He tossed back his wine. “Congratulations, by the way,” he muttered grudgingly.

  Dane bowed. “You honor me, Your Highness.”

  “Oh, sod off, you buggers. I’ll be there.”

  Dane bowed again, more deeply. “Thank you, Your Highness. I shall expect you by early afternoon in two days time.”

  George waved them away. “I’ll be there when I get there. Now, go away. You’re giving me a crick in my neck.”

  “How would you like me to dispose of your summer frocks, my lady?”

  Olivia frowned slightly. “I thought I would simply leave them here.”

  Now it was Petty’s turn to frown. “For who?”

  Olivia had that feeling one gets when two people aren’t speaking of the same thing but think they are. “Petty, what do you think I should do with my gowns?”

  Petty became very busy with wrapping Olivia’s shoes. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know, my lady.”

  Olivia folded her arms. “Which is what people say when they do know.”

  Petty wrapped another pair. “I can’t … it wouldn’t be proper, my lady.”

  Olivia sighed. “Since when has that stopped you?”

  Petty shrugged, unwrapping and rewrapping the first pair of shoes.

  Olivia shrugged right back. “Petty, you know very well that I haven’t the slightest idea what you expect me to do with my gowns. I’ve never ‘disposed’ of anything that had another wearing in it. My mother trimmed and retrimmed hers for three years before giving them to her lady’s maid—”

  But Olivia didn’t need to retrim a thing. As Dane’s viscountess, she was allowed—nay, expected—to begin each season with an entirely new modish wardrobe.

  She was supposed to give her old gowns to Petty. It was one of the perquisites of the job. Of course, most maids didn’t wear the gowns. They sold them and kept the money as a sort of bonus for keeping their mistresses looking well.

  Olivia decided to start over. “By the way, Petty,” she said airily, “I want you to have my summer gowns.”

  “Yes, my lady. Thank you.” Petty smiled in obvious relief. Apparently there were some lines even Petty would not cross.

  Still, what a bother. That meant Olivia would have to go through an entire new series of fittings next spring.

  Olivia stroked a hand down the bed curtains. “It’s odd. I only just now acquainted myself with all the rooms in this house, and now I’m leaving again. By the time I learn Kirkall Hall, I shall be leaving again to Christmas at Greenleigh. And at Greenleigh—”

  “At Greenleigh, it’s like to take you years to learn every room, my lady. There’s more than a hundred of them.”

  “Cheltenham has sixty-four rooms,” Olivia said proudly. Then she shrugged. “Most of them are closed off and full of cobwebs and leaks.”

  For the first time, it struck her that she would not be spending Christmas at Cheltenham. She’d been so busy and so wrapped up in Dane that she’d not thought the coming year through.

  There would be no excited preparations for her family’s return. She wouldn’t be receiving her traditional inedible fruitcake from poor Mrs. Abersham, who couldn’t see well and often mistook the ingredients (it was best not to mention the time it was cow suppositories instead of dates).

  Walter had so looked forward to that fruitcake every year. He would dissect it on the great scratched dining table, crowing with delight at each outrageous ingredient. For years, Olivia had been able to make him laugh at will simply by saying, “Moo!”

  Walter … oh God, poor Walter. And poor Olivia, for she would never spend another Christmas waiting to find out what her beloved brother had found for her that year—would it be a Chinese puzzle box or a stuffed and mounted Brazilian lizard or a diary clad in deep blue leather? He’d always known just what to bring her to make her laugh and to make her feel understood.

  Abruptly Olivia wanted to be alone. “Petty, go and find yourself some dinner. If we’ve forgotten anything, we can send for it later.”

  When there was silence at last, Olivia reached under the bed for her lockbox and pulled the bed curtains around. She cried a bit while writing, but as always, she felt much the better for putting words to her feelings. Nothing would bring Walter back, but she would never be too busy to remember him again.

  Which reminded her of Sumner. She wouldn’t be able to pin Sumner down about the details of Walter’s death until they arrived at the lodge—and even then, not until after the Hunt Ball.

  Nervous knots formed in Olivia’s stomach at the thought of the Hunt Ball. She’d put so much faith in others. Mrs. Huff, Mrs. Arnold, Mrs. Blythe. How could she be sure that no one would let her down?

  She closed her eyes in anticipated horror. What if the food was wrong or the lodge wasn’t ready for guests or the entertainment was banal?

  She thought of Mrs. Blythe and her outrageous penchant for purple. Such a woman could never be banal. A comforting thought. Yes, even if the food was poor or the lodge uncomfortable, her guests would always remember Lady Greenleigh’s Hunt Ball.

  “Ready for bed already?” A deep, teasing voice came from just outside the bed curtains.

  Dane!

  Olivia stuffed everything—the diary, the open inkwell, and the inky quill—beneath a pillow just as Dane swept open the bed curtains next to her.

  Mrs. Huff’s steely indignation was nothing next to the embarrassment Olivia would feel if Dane ever read her childish scribbling about him!

  Dane took one look at his bride’s guilt-ridden expression and all his pleasure at finding her alone was gone. He’d virt
ually sneaked upstairs in his own house, determined to find her and sweep her away somewhere private. He’d been hoping for a repeat of yesterday’s predinner escapade. It had been nearly a day since he’d caressed her breasts, and he was nearly fading away from deprivation.

  Now she sat, shoulders hunched defensively, gray eyes wide and shining with badly done “innocence.”

  “Hello, Dane,” she said brightly, falsely.

  Every suspicious fiber of Dane’s being—which meant most of his being—leaped to attention. This afternoon she’d been as warm and open as ever. Now he was quite sure that this was a woman with something to hide.

  Dane slammed the lid on that sick suspicion before it could infect him. Olivia wasn’t that sort. She was embarrassingly frank, wildly sensual, and entirely without guile.

  He gazed down at her, his face expressionless. “What are you doing, Olivia?”

  She licked her lips and flicked her gaze away, every so slightly. “Resting.”

  He nodded, betraying no suspicion. “Hence the bed.”

  She nodded agreeably, looking relieved. “Yes. Right. The bed.”

  Dane’s gaze swept the area. There was a small lockbox he’d never seen before. It was about the size of a cigar case and it was standing open. “What do you have there?”

  Olivia shot a panicked glance at the box, then relaxed. Whatever it was she was hiding wasn’t there … but from the way she’d reacted, it typically was.

  “Oh, these are some keepsakes from ho—from Cheltenham.” She pulled the box toward her. “See, here is the token I won for my flower arrangement at the Cheltenham fair.” She dangled the medal from her fingers. “I’m not very good, I’m afraid, but the fair was my doing, so I think they let me win.”

  Dane was frankly confused by her behavior. This was a girl who would host a fair for her cottagers but not expect to win. He was wrong. She might be hiding something, but it was likely as benign as a hole in her stocking.

  Relaxing, he held out his hand to help her to her feet. “It’s nearly time to dress for dinner.”

  As she rose, her shoulders slumped slightly. “What is it?” he asked.